


dallas rodeo

by sevener



Category: Hockey RPF, Original Work
Genre: Genre Subversion, M/M, Matthew Tkachuk As A Plot Device, Misunderstandings, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-08
Updated: 2021-01-08
Packaged: 2021-03-12 13:49:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28636539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sevener/pseuds/sevener
Summary: Wherein Matthew Tkachuk is the team’s unwitting interpersonal relationships expert, and also yells a lot.
Relationships: OMC/OMC
Comments: 29
Kudos: 126





	dallas rodeo

**Author's Note:**

> So I know I said I’d be taking a break for a bit but, uh, my hand slipped? …and then it just kept on slipping. This is a super self-indulgent attempt at genre subversion that conveniently ignores (a) the complete and total lack of cool (gay) bars in Calgary and (b) like, pretty much all homophobia, because this is my world now and you’re all just living in it. Basically: please clap, and I hope you all enjoy as much as I did.

Most of the time, Dallas didn’t feel like he was missing out on anything.

The fact was that a good half of the dynamic guys on the team were betas, and the half who weren’t tended to treat _him_ like one. 

All of the larger intricacies of dynamic life - beyond the occasional nudge in the ribs with accompanying significant look, followed closely by a helpful whispered translation when whoever it was suddenly remembered that _he_ wasn’t able to smell other people’s emotions, so _he_ had no idea that about 75% of the reason why Backs was so pissed this morning was that his wife was starting to heat and also he’d dropped his breakfast smoothie coming into the rink earlier - were mostly, if not completely, lost on him.

And he was fine with that. He honestly didn’t need to know that San Jose’s d-core were gunning hard after Johnny because they thought he smelled nice _on top_ of the fact that he played a sexy as fuck game, dancing around the bunch of them like they were practice pylons: Dallas would gladly smear Prout and Dillon into the boards either way.

And really, what was he actually missing out on? Some of Dallas’ friends from back home had designations: most of them just pushing into their twenties and almost all of them married (or whatever the dynamic term for it was - _mated_ ) and with at least two kids popped out already. One of his closer buddies from Victoria had presented and gone into heat at just 16, had gotten himself all shacked up by the end of that same week - legally goddamn fucking married with two years of high school left to go. And yeah, him and his husband still seemed plenty happy, and maybe they’d be happy for the whole rest of their lives, even, but Dallas still had to admit that he didn’t quite get it: how could you know someone was meant for you just by _smelling_ them? And how in the _hell_ did you commit to the whole rest of _forever_ based on a couple days of marathon sex - even if it was marathon sex hopped up on ecstasy and hormonal steroids (as Looch had once described it).

So all in all Dallas was really content to pass, cheers, he’d take the casual sex, hold the extra slick and the knotting and the biting, thanks. 

Then the trade deadline hit, and the Flames signed Ryan Turner.

Dallas wouldn’t go so far as to say he _gets_ it, but it’s like… There was all the normal shit: Ryan was - inescapably - hot. He had a nice smile, could fucking bowl a guy over on the ice without even trying, and he - miracle of all miracles here - didn’t dress himself like a wannabe instagram hypebeast (sorry not sorry, the last dozen first rounders for the Toronto Maple Leafs). But then Dallas couldn’t help but _also_ notice all the _not_ normal shit: how Ryan - who was already built like a brick fucking shithouse to start with - would go ahead and make himself even _bigger_ when someone tried to square up, proceed to calmly fucking demolish them, and then turn around and be infinitely gentle everywhere else - would smile big and bright for the junior reporter kids who wanted to know why his favourite colour was blue, would quietly slide himself between a group of girls and the creepy pack of frats eyeing them up from down the bar, and always stopped to hold the goddamn door open for overwhelmed moms at the grocery store.

And then there was the way he easily slotted himself in on the team; openly welcoming everyone in as close as you’d like and then hitting the ice with this look in his eye like he’d stick his neck out under a blade for all of them. It was… intense. Not just Ryan’s casual, absolute loyalty, but the degree to which it compelled you to give it right _back -_ to _want_ to have the warmth of that smile shining right on you, knowing that Ryan was thinking of you, and treating you, as _his_. Dallas didn’t realize how dangerous it was until he was already halfway hooked - already seeking it instinctively, looking to catch Ryan’s eye in the locker room, on the bench, on the ice after he knew he’d just pulled a perfect play, waiting for the gut-clenching punch of those hazel eyes finding him, the full force of Ryan’s attention like a physical touch against skin.

Nine times out of ten Dallas couldn’t even guess at who’s dynamic was what, and on the occasions where he could that was usually a _bad_ thing - usually when someone was trying to hold their designation over somebody else, or, like, posture up to someone for the last carton of eggs at Safeway or something. _This_ was another order of thing entirely, because while Dallas was still positive that he didn’t get the appeal of a direct line from his nose to his dick, he also definitely _wouldn't_ turn down some ‘roided out, highly emotional sex with the guy who could send his whole body tingling with nothing more than an approving smile.

It was actually kind of fucking terrifying, but Dallas mostly managed to cap a lid on the insane feeling of free-fall that that particular thought inspired by reminding himself that ultimately, it was never going to matter. There was literally no way that Ryan - total fucking rocket, prime alpha real estate that any omega would scramble over themselves to get up on, known hot guy _Ryan_ \- would register Dallas - whose default resting status these days counted as ‘tucked off in a corner making moon eyes and drooling puddles into his own lap’ - as anything but an insignificant blip on his radar.

That’s what Dallas told himself.

Then he went on ahead and tripped and fell over his own sheer idiocy, and he must have hit his head or something on the way down because by the time he finally came out of his daze it was several months later, they were starting a new season, and he’d somehow gone and convinced Ryan to be his _friend_ \- they’d spent half the goddamn _summer_ together - and everything just went straight downhill from there.

Before, Ryan had just been hard to look at. Now, he was impossible to look away from. When Ryan approached, Dallas raised his head - his eyes would swing to find Ryan in a room, out on the ice, across the dance floor in a crowded bar. Worse, Dallas had gotten used to Ryan’s constant and reliable presence pulling him into orbit - knew without looking when it was the heat of _Ryan’s_ body pressed up along his back, had learned to find and fit himself to the permanent space that Ryan carved out for him at his side. Ryan loved to keep him there - loved to set his hand absently on Dallas’ left shoulder while he was engaged in conversation with someone else, to shift it to rest along the length of Dallas’ spine when he turned to talk to him. He also had a terrible penchant for buying Dallas food just to watch him eat it: the most special kind of torture, pure satisfaction in those hazel eyes as they casually tracked every bite; how easily Dallas could keep every heady, intoxicating ounce of that attention trained on him for long minutes, just by shovelling back bar fries and sighing happily at the taste. Ryan was just always so _there._ If he had infinite patience and kindness and concern for the people he didn’t know from Adam, he somehow managed to find even _more_ of it for his friends. Dallas had never felt so disgustingly appreciated and protected and- and fucking _cared for_ as he did when he had Ryan’s eyes on him, when he was tucked up firmly under Ryan’s arm.

It was almost too much to handle, and eventually it got him so hot under the skin that he knew he had to do _something_ , or else be liable to try and jump Ryan the next time the man so much as ordered him takeout. He didn’t really have a lot by the way of brilliant ideas on exactly what _something_ he needed to do though, so he figured he’d start with an old reliable: just get the fucking itch scratched.

He liked Ryan’s attention, liked the proprietary fall of his hand and the feeling of his big body boxing him in, so Dallas put on a worn-soft tee with the sleeves cut down to his ribs, pants that weren’t so much tailored as ass-squeezing, and went and picked up the biggest, broadest guy he could find at the bar that night. And it wasn’t _bad -_ there was something close to the usual heat swirling at the pit of his stomach when the guy felt the need to guide him with a hand pressed to the small of his back, and when he clasped that same broad palm over the back of Dallas’ neck and groaned low and bucked with only half restrained motions into his mouth - it was all _close_ , but it didn’t drive Dallas nearly half out of his mind, and he kept imagining ( _involuntarily_ ) that it was Ryan underneath and above and _inside_ of him, and then his brain would helpfully choose to remind him that he had no fucking idea what Ryan was like like this, that Ryan could make him feel ten times as electric just by putting a hand on his knee and sliding over a plate of hot wings for him to demolish, and Dallas got the guy finished off with his hand and let him pull him to his feet and jerk him hard and quick while Dallas leaned into his shoulder and absolutely _refused_ to imagine Ryan’s coaxing voice at his ear, Ryan’s perfect hand wrapped around him, stroking him, and then he cleaned himself quickly and left even though he could tell the guy was probably good for round two.

So that one was a wash, but maybe it’d just been the wrong itch - or maybe that guy hadn’t been _enough_ like the insane fantasies in Dallas’ head to scratch it. The next time he was more deliberate about it - he got a seat tucked away in a back corner and nursed an ice water while he watched, carefully scoping out his options before he went in for the kill. He needed to find the toppiest top out there, someone who could - and _would_ \- put him right where they wanted him. Size maybe didn’t matter so much as attitude, and a willingness to manhandle was a must. Eventually he spotted a guy who looked like he might fit the bill - this dude out dancing under the lights who’s hands never seemed to _stop_ touching, pulling his willing partner in close by the hips and running up possessively over their stomach, catching his friend by the neck to tilt their heads in close and yell something into his ear, smiling. It wasn’t even a bad smile, lit green and purple in the shifting lights, and the guy was nice and thick in the chest even if he wasn’t too tall - just about the same height as Dallas, he could see once he was out on the floor.

Dallas caught his eye as he danced closer - the guy was visibly more muscled than him in a way that looked deliberate, built more for style than function, but he seemed to hesitate a beat just before Dallas inclined his head, eyes flicking skeptically over Dallas’ strong thighs and shoulders before they zeroed in on his neck, the pulse point bared out before him, and maybe that should have been Dallas’ first clue but he didn’t have time to catch on before the guy was pulling him in close. It felt good, being tugged into position, the firm, confident hands running over his lower stomach and hips and thighs while the guy plastered himself all over Dallas’ back - no hesitancy in the total consuming press of his body.

Then the guy tucked his nose up just behind Dallas’ ear, breathing hot and damp for a second, and it was there that he froze. Dallas froze too, wondering what the hell the problem was, and then the guy growled - an _alpha’s_ growl - right up against his skin, and Dallas got what had just happened a split second before he was being firmly pushed away.

“Sorry man,” the guy said at arms length, not angry but not too happy about it either. “I don’t go for non-dynamic guys.”

Dallas nodded casually even as his stomach sank, and he couldn’t help but ask, “How did you know I’m not-”

“Not a beta?” The guy rolled his eyes. “Pay attention in health class next time. Betas have a scent too, if you can get close enough.”

The guy danced off with a smirk and Dallas didn’t really feel like sticking around much after that, even though he probably could’ve found someone else to press him up against a grungy bathroom stall, if not take him home. But he was smarting, just a little - the guy’s reaction had been a bit _too_ close to what Dallas imagined Ryan might say, if Dallas ever… 

Well, better not to even think about it, given that he now had the direct goddamn experience of how much it _sucked_ to hear, even just coming from a stranger.

Clearly his stupid plan to stop thinking about Ryan wasn’t helping, since every time he tried to pick up someone for Ryan-related reasons he inevitably couldn’t help but think even _more_ about Ryan.

The logical conclusion of that thought didn’t occur until they were out at a bar in L.A. the next week, a good half of the team buzzed and sweating already in the unseasonable California heat. Dallas’ gaze caught on this tiny, pretty thing pressed up against the bar, her neck tilted shallowly in a tease that had definitely caught the attention of the tall woman standing close up next to her. Like, _duh_ , what could be more obvious than picking up the exact _opposite_ of Ryan to get over him? And what could be _more_ the exact opposite than an omega?

Not that Dallas thought all omegas were sweet and yielding and submissive or something - he’d met (and been dangled on, checked and punched right in the fucking face by) enough omegas in the league to be firmly disabused of _that_ classic stereotype. He just figured that if anyone _wouldn’t_ remind him of Ryan it’d be an omega with no interest in any of the things Dallas had associated with him - an omega who would want _Dallas_ in the drivers seat, rather than the other way around - who would expect him to chase and woo and work for it.

It was the perfect plan, with only one small problem, but Dallas was already turning around to go hunt down Johnny when he suddenly - like a sixth goddamn sense - felt a familiar presence saddling up behind him.

Ryan greeted him by settling his hand to Dallas’ back, which - fuck - he automatically leaned into. It was freaking Pavlovian at this point. In his other hand Ryan was holding out a sweating glass of ice water, and Dallas dumbly reached back and took it, suddenly aware of how parched he’d been.

“You okay?” Ryan asked, just loud enough over the swelling pound of music. Dallas nodded and tried his best effort at a smile, not exactly meeting Ryan’s eye, which he figured he could get away with since he still mostly wasn’t facing him.

Then he realized he could do something extremely stupid, something dumb that would hurt him just enough to be more than ready to go ahead with his new plan. He turned under Ryan’s arm so that they were standing at right angles, and leaned in.

“Actually, I was wondering,” he started, having half-yell as a new song picked up around them. “Are there any hot omegas here?”

It was perfect - he’d just been about to go find Johnny to ask him to suss out someone he’d have a chance of a shot with, but Ryan would be just as capable, and having to endure as he pointed out all the hot people that he was literally _designed_ to be compatible with would be the perfect reminder of just how _not_ a viable option Dallas was by comparison. Get it out of his head that he was even a remote possibility.

Dallas looked up to meet Ryan’s eyes and found him frowning, staring at Dallas like he’d spontaneously sprouted a second head in front of him, but before Dallas could even open his mouth to ask Ryan was already tearing his attention away and looking over the sprawl of the room. His mouth wrinkled.

“There,” he finally said, pointing subtly at a totally normal looking guy nursing a drink at the bar. “And him,” his attention shifted to a super tall, super skinny dude leaning on a railing overlooking the dance floor. Then he hesitated.

“Or, shit, sorry. You probably meant girls, right?” His nose twitched and he inclined his head in the direction of two girls holding strawberry daiquiris and bobbing along to the beat just five or so feet to his left. “They both are.”

Dallas’ fingers were tight around his glass. White-knuckled. He swallowed with sudden difficulty and said, not turning his head to look at Ryan, “No, it’s- It’s fine. Guys are fine.”

Ryan didn’t tighten or loosen his grip on Dallas’ shoulder. Didn’t step away or let himself move closer. He just stayed perfectly, precisely, still and said, “Cool, uh. In that case, him too,” and half gestured to a guy about Dallas’ height, with coiled hair and dark skin and adorable dimples.

Literally all of them were hot - beautiful, even - and all Dallas had to do was duck out from Ryan’s arm and walk over and smile and ask for a dance. Buy one of them a drink. It would be that easy. He wouldn’t even mind going home with any of them. 

Instead, he found himself stalling.

“Who would you-” Dallas licked his lips. His heart was pounding. He knew he shouldn’t ask. Knew it would be _torture_ to know. “Who would you go for?”

There was an unexpected moment of silence, and when it went on long enough Dallas had to turn his head to look. Ryan wasn’t looking at anything - was looking at the far back wall with his lips pressed hard together.

“I don’t know,” he finally said, still looking at nothing. His gaze wasn’t even moving. “None of them. I don’t know.”

It was impossible to miss the creeping tension in Ryan’s body. Dallas turned even further towards him, and it took every ounce of willpower he had not to reach out and cup his hand to the strained line of Ryan’s jaw. God he was going fucking insane.

“Ryan?” he said instead. “What’s wrong?”

It was like he’d pricked him with a pin, how Ryan suddenly deflated, all the tension flowing out on a breath as his attention pulled back to Dallas, just as maddening as usual except for the newly shuttered look behind his eyes.

“Nothing,” Ryan said, and he rubbed his hand soothingly between Dallas’ shoulder blades a bit before he let it drop. “You should… The guy with the dimples, I think. Or the blonde guy. Either would… But I’m gonna head out now. I’ll see you at the hotel, tomorrow morning.”

And with that he suddenly turned and left, leaving a fresh cold to rush in along Dallas’ side before his body re-acclimated to the pressing heat of the club. Dallas stared at the crowd of people that pushed back in, obscuring the place where Ryan had disappeared, and wondered if he should go after him. Then he realized how insane that thought was and forced himself to look away.

He found himself watching the dance floor instead, staring critically at the blonde - AKA the totally average guy - that Ryan had pointed out, trying to divine why Ryan thought he was the one Dallas should go for. He watched Dimples too, but that one was easier to figure out; the guy was totally gorgeous, borderline out of Dallas’ league except for the charmingly crooked smile he aimed at everyone who looked his way, clearly friendly enough that Dallas had a better-than-passing chance of getting a dance if he asked for one. Blondie was far less remarkable, and subdued enough over his glass of liquid amber that Dallas had a hard time picturing him doing much more than immediately turning Dallas down - it took him five minutes of unsubtle staring to realize that Blondie was covertly watching him back. Shyly, but with definite interest. Well goddamn, Ryan sure did know how to pick ‘em.

Dallas considered going over and shooting his shot, or sidling up to Dimples on the dance floor, but the restless crawl under his skin that had haunted him all season was strangely muted now, pressed back behind the image of Ryan’s blank face as it played over and over in his mind. Had he been pissed off? Dallas had asked him which omega he would go for… Pretty clearly none of Dallas’ goddamn business, but not a question he wouldn’t ask any other teammate. Maybe he’d stepped over some obscure rule of etiquette that Ryan had? But then why not just say so? And Ryan had relaxed just as quickly afterwards, had acted only a bare shade off of normal before leaving in a rush.

Dallas was still puzzling over it as he wandered back to the table that a few of the guys were still holding down. He took a seat absently, trying to remember through the haze of sweat and tequila whether he’d said anything else, something that might have made Ryan uncomfortable, when Chucky suddenly flinched violently back away from him.

“Geez! What the hell Country, you reek!” he barked, wrinkling his nose up. “What, d’you finally let Turnsy rub himself all over you? God, you smell like someone shot his puppy and then tried to shoot _you_.”

Dallas blinked back at him, straining to piece out what the fuck that was even supposed to mean. 

“What?”

“I _said_ ,” Chucky huffed, still leaning away like he might be able to dodge the smell. “You smell like someone made Turner rewatch Good Will Hunting - you know how he _always_ cries like a baby when he watches that shit - and then dangled you like a teddy bear in front of him until he broke all over again, fuck. Hey where is the big sap anyway, he’s okay, right?”

“He’s fine,” Dallas reassured him, because Ryan had technically seemed _mostly_ fine the last time he’d seen him. “One last time again Chuck, in English please. Explain.”

Chucky tilted his head and levelled a squinty frown at him, “What the hell aren’t you getting man? You need to call it a night, dude, you smell like sad-sack alpha.”

_That_ got Dallas to straighten in his seat. 

“Ryan’s sad? About what?”

Chucky’s mouth twisted up, “How in the hell should I know? _You’re_ the one who stinks of him,” he leaned closer for a reluctant sniff. “And I don’t know how to explain it to you, it’s not just _sad_ it’s like, I dunno, a lot of things. Melancholy, or some shit.”

What the fuck. He’d thought Ryan was pissed, or maybe distracted by something Dallas hadn’t seen. He had absolutely no idea what to do with the information that Ryan was apparently _melancholy_. What in the sweet fuck did that even mean, _melancholy_. And _what_ in that conversation they’d had could have possibly made Ryan sad… Unless. Dallas’ eyes widened.

“Ryan’s gay.”

He felt, more than saw, Chucky swivel in his seat to look at him.

“Uh, _duh_?”

Dallas thought about Ryan casually pointing out hot guys to him, and clarified. “Not like that, I mean Ryan’s _only into other alphas_.”

It was like solving the worlds toughest, least satisfying puzzle - painful, but there was also a thin thread of triumph at finding the one last piece to fit. 

That lasted right up until Chucky scoffed loudly in the booth next to him.

“Uh, _no_ dude. That guy could not be more equal opportunity. Remember? Back in D.C. he had that long term thing with that omega, and since he’s been _here_ he’s pretty much not had a type beyond ‘enthusiastic interest’ which, y’know, with that face, is pretty much everybody. Like, _everybody_. Whatever, dynamic, _non-dynamic_ , everybody rides.”

Chucky had his eyebrows raised significantly, but Dallas was too busy trying to remember a time he’d seen Ryan go off with literally _anybody_ to bother running his Chucky-to-normal-person translation for that.

“When has he even-”

“End of last season, start of the summer,” Chucky’s significant eyebrows were intensifying, but Dallas just squinted at him in confusion, struggling to remember. “You know, before you two started _spending so much time together_.”

Well, at least that made sense. If he didn’t have any recollections of Ryan running off with a menagerie of (apparently) highly willing sex partners then that was probably out of sheer instinct of self-preservation: he’d probably done his best to delete what little he _had_ seen so that he couldn’t agonize over how not-like-Dallas all of his hookups were.

“So now, he hasn’t been-”

“ _No_ ,” Chucky said. His eyebrows were practically breaking for his hairline. “He _hasn’t been hooking up with people at all this season_.”

Dallas stared at him. Chucky stared pointedly back, expression on his face like _DO YOU GET IT_. He looked half-manic.

“I don’t-”

“Of fucking course you don’t,” Chucky sighed like it pained him, falling heavily back against the booth. He stared up at the ceiling for a moment and muttered something too quiet for Dallas to hear, then blew out a short breath. “Fuck, why do I bother. Just get out of here Country, you seriously smell tragic. I can’t even look at you right now.”

Dallas rolled his eyes and shoved at Chucky’s shoulder - which he wrinkled his nose at, predictably - but he finally got up out of the booth and ordered an Uber. He wasn’t going to have much fun if he stayed here any longer, too preoccupied with puzzling through his strange interaction with Ryan and now Chucky’s stupid dancing eyebrows on top of it - and if he smelled even half as bad as Chucky claimed then there wouldn’t be that many people who could stand to have fun with him anyway.

It took him the ride back to his hotel, the walk to his floor and into his room, stripping out of his sweat-soaked clothing and into the shower, through the entire length of the shower _and_ brushing his teeth _and_ pulling on fresh boxers, and it wasn’t until he’d slid his body in between the crisp, cool sheets of his hotel bed that he suddenly got it. Never let it be said that he was the fastest kid at the Tim Hortons summer camp.

Chucky didn’t think Ryan was just sad, he thought he was _miserable_ , miserable and trying to comfort himself by leaning on _Dallas_. And Chucky had specifically emphasized that Ryan wasn’t just _not_ gay, but that he was interested in anyone who was interested in _him_ \- including non-dynamic anyones. _And_ that he hadn’t hooked up with anyone all season, which meant… Which meant that he was probably all sad about it as well as extra horny from the pent-up energy? So Dallas would have even _more_ of a chance with him, fuck, Chucky had been trying to tell him that this was the perfect time to _go for it_.

Dallas groped on the nightstand for his phone, ignoring the fact that it was now well past three in the morning, and called Chucky.

“ _Wassit?_ ” came the gurgled, half-awake response from the other end of the line. Dallas smiled indulgently.

“Chucky! I figured it out, what you were trying to tell me.”

“ _Mhhhnn_. _Whossis?”_

Okay, so Chucky was definitely less than half-awake at this point, but whatever, he was too excited to wait.

“It’s Dallas. Dude, I like totally get it - you were trying to tell me to have sex with Ryan to cheer him up about whatever’s got him down!”

There was a long beat of silence over the phone, and then Chucky groaned and moaned out something like “ _Ssssk-Fuckenb. Blechrugh!_ ” and hung up. 

Dallas shrugged and locked his phone before he tossed it, then rolled over and slept the night through like a baby. He woke up in the same good mood, feeling strangely pragmatic about the whole thing: Ryan was sad, and Dallas wouldn't have that if he could help it. Ryan was always doing shit for him, taking _care_ of him, and Dallas was of course ready to pay it all back. And Ryan was apparently down for some no-strings-attached sex with a friend to get back into the swing of things, and Dallas- well, Dallas was only _too_ willing. Even if it meant that he’d only get to have this with Ryan in a way that would feel incomplete, he couldn’t let one tiny scruple like that stand in the way of helping a friend. Besides, the entire idea had been Chucky’s to start, and if there was one person on the team that Dallas would trust to have a read on a guy, it was Chucky. (People were always telling him their secrets for some reason - probably because he was stupidly charming on top of doggedly loyal, and also, barely anyone was actually able to interpret his weird post-verbal-body-language form of communication, so he couldn’t ever spill them.)

“Hey Ryan,” Dallas said, dropping down on the other side of the breakfast table. Ryan looked up from his oatmeal and gave him a tiny eye-smile.

“Hey Dal,” he said, scooting one of the cups of coffee over towards him. Two milks no sugar just how he liked it. “You eating?”

“I’ll grab some in a sec. Hey I just wanted to ask-”

“You didn’t go too hard last night, did you?” Ryan interrupted, gazing over him critically. “I didn’t think you’d had that much to drink when we talked, but I guess I should’ve checked in better. And I guess you could’ve drank more after I left, but I thought maybe you were winding down, y’know, especially since you wanted to- I mean, it seemed like you were gonna-”

“Woah,” Dallas cut him off there. “Chill, Ry, I’m fine. I didn’t drink that much and I didn’t go home with anyone after. That’s actually what I was gonna talk to you about, because Chucky said-”

“Stop!”

Like he’d been fucking summoned, Chucky suddenly rounded the corner and was on their table in a flash, looking just a _touch_ (read: extremely very) frenzied around the edges.

“You,” he said, pointing at Dallas. “Stop talking. Ah-ah, no. No more out of your mouth.”

Dallas shut his teeth with a snap and frowned mulishly, crossing his arms.

“You,” Chucky said, turning to point at Ryan. “It is not the thing you think it is. It is somehow a million times stupider… dumber, whatever. I _promise_ that you don’t want to know, now _up_.”

Ryan stared at him. Chucky made a rude face back.

“Come on Turner, I don’t have all goddamn day,” he made a show of looking down at his watch. Which he in fact was not wearing. “I have just about five minutes to stop this emotional train-wreck before it gets going, and then I am heading right back upstairs and going right back to sleep. So _get_ _up_.”

“This is my table!”

“And does it look like I give a shit? Five minutes. Go get your boy some breakfast.”

That finally seemed to do it for some reason, and Ryan pushed up out of his chair with a final desperate look at Chucky - which appeared to elicit exactly _no_ emotional response - and then trudged off towards the hot plate area, leaving Dallas to Matthew Tkachuk’s tender mercies all on his own.

Chucky took Ryan’s empty seat and calmly steepled his fingers together over the abandoned oatmeal, bowing his head down towards them until Dallas couldn’t see his eyes.

“Tell me,” he started, in a voice that edged just slightly into a growl. “When, _exactly_ , did you hear me say you should go offer yourself as a sacrificial sex toy to your close personal friend Ryan Turner?”

Dallas stared at the top of Chucky’s head, wondering if that was supposed to be a rhetorical question. He was really hoping it was. Chucky lifted his gaze and raised one imperious eyebrow, and waited.

“Uh,” Dallas stalled out. “I wasn't- Is that not what you were trying to tell me last night?”

“ _When!?_ ” Chucky exploded. Multiple heads in the room turned towards their table, and three seats across and down Dallas could see Looch visibly holding back a laugh. Dallas’ gut clenched, and he felt his cheeks burn.

“Tell me when the fuck I said that!” Chucky kept going, red across the face too. “No seriously, walk me through the thread of logic that led you to this magnificent conclusion. Please, I’d love to hear it.”

He sat back in his seat and picked up the green smoothie Ryan had left behind, sipping on it pointedly while he gestured for Dallas to start talking. Dallas gulped.

“Well, uh, okay. So. There was the part where you said that Ryan was maybe kinda sad.”

Chucky nodded.

“And then the part where you said that Ryan isn’t gay - or, he is, but he doesn’t care about dynamic. He would… He wouldn’t mind if someone was non-dynamic.”

Chucky nodded again. Encouraging.

“But he hasn’t been hooking up with anyone this season.” Another nod. “And there was a reason you wanted me to know all of this, because it somehow relates to me…”

Chucky had his eyebrows up again, like he was watching a shootout that they were one goal away from winning, and Dallas had the puck set right on his stick.

“So,” Dallas took a breath. “Ryan is sad and horny and he’s fallen out of the swing of dating, and I could help him feel better by doing a casual sex-friend thing.”

“Gah!” Chucky said - more like yelled - despairingly. “How are you doing that?”

“Doing what?”

“Ugh. You’ve seriously got about ten logical leaps… You know what, never mind,” Chucky grumbled, rubbing at his own temples. Then he stopped and opened his eyes. “Okay. You are going to listen to me very carefully: Dallas, you are wrong. You could not possibly be more wrong, actually, and it’s kinda funny, except the only thing that would make Turner even sadder at this point would be if you said any of this to his face. So for that reason, and that very important reason only, you will _not_ be saying any of this to his face, capiche?”

Dallas felt his mouth turn down at the corners. Felt his shoulders suddenly sag. “Chuck, are you trying to say that it would make Ryan _sad_ to know that I wanna have sex with him?”

And, oh, fuck, had he really just said that out loud? Well, that about explained why Chucky always knew everyone’s secrets. It was apparently just really hard _not_ to tell him.

But it was just that, well… _embarrassed_ , he could understand. Uncomfortable, awkward, annoyed, even disgusted - all reactions that Ryan could have to Dallas coming on to him that Dallas would totally understand. But _sad_? What the hell was he supposed to do with _sad_? What the hell did _sad_ even mean?

Dallas lifted his gaze to ask Chucky that exact same question, only to find Chucky already staring at him with his mouth hanging open. “You… But you- And you were gonna-”

“I thought it was implied that I wanted to?” Dallas tried.

“Ugh! This just makes everything even _more_ stupid. Goddammit, I hate both of you. You deserve each other. Also! Stop trying to interpret what I’m saying, ‘cause you clearly will _never_ get what I’m saying.”

He stood up from the table and tossed Dallas a dark look. “Stay. I’m going to go get Turner, and you two dumbasses can figure this out for yourselves. I am officially never giving anyone a goddamn hint again.”

He left Dallas at the table to half-heartedly nurse his lukewarm coffee and bite nervously at his lip. Chucky was probably right - he _still_ had no idea what the guy was trying to say, and the worst part was it felt like he was _just_ on the edge of being able to. Like when he’d thought he’d solved the puzzle at the club last night - he knew he had all the pieces, he just needed to make them _fit_.

Of course Chucky chose that exact moment to reappear, pulling one visibly reluctant Ryan in tow behind him.

Dallas’ gut twisted slightly at the sight, but Ryan didn’t waver or anything: he walked right up and put a full breakfast plate down in front of Dallas before taking his empty seat, and it was a nice reminder that no matter what happened, they were friends - it was probably all gonna be okay between them in the end.

“Okay,” Chucky said, clapping his hands together. “Not that this hasn’t been super fun, but I seriously need to just not look at either of you for the next six hours, and since that’s not gonna happen for me, for team plane reasons, I’m doing the next best thing and going the fuck back to sleep. Please do not fuck this up more, and if you do, _please_ , for the love of god, do not tell me. Good fucking luck.”

And with that, he turned and left them. Dallas winced a little, picking unenthusiastically at a corner of whole-grain toast in silence while he tried to think of something to say. He had no idea what Chucky had told Ryan - whether had the whole sordid story of Dallas’ misunderstandings or if Chucky had just thrown him back out here without telling him anything.

He dared to peek up under his lashes across the table at Ryan and found him basically in the exact same position - stirring his oatmeal in aimless patterns around his bowl without eating any - and felt even less sure about what he was supposed to do next. Confess? Lie? Run Away? And if Ryan didn’t know either…

There was a sound like an extremely pained groan from down the direction of the lobby, and then footsteps stomped back and Chucky’s head popped up from around the corner again, scowling like he’d never been more annoyed in his life.

“For the love of Pete, just _kiss already_.”

Several of the guys cheered. More of them wolf-whistled. One guy who sounded suspiciously like Mony asked “Who’s Pete?” in an obviously confused undertone.

Dallas, for his part, groaned and blushed and ducked his head down. It took him several long seconds to realize that Ryan was doing the exact same thing.

“Wait,” he said, with a terrible, new-dawning awareness. “Why are you…”

“You’re blushing too,” Ryan pointed out defensively.

“Yeah but that’s because I…”

“But I’m the one who…”

They both trailed off at the same time and stared at each other.

“Oh,” said Ryan.

“ _Oh_ ,” said Dallas, with feeling. “I think I owe Chucky an apology.”

Somewhere in the room, someone choked on a laugh. Dallas remembered abruptly that half the team was in spitting distance and definitely listening in. Ryan looked like he’d just noticed the same thing.

“I think it can wait,” Dallas said.

Ryan nodded fervently. Almost wildly. “It definitely can.”

“Yeah,” Dallas said. “So right now d’you wanna-”

“Oh I _definitely_ wanna.”

Fucking Looch wolf-whistled again.

“Let’s get out of here,” Ryan said, and grabbed up Dallas’ plate for later as he followed him quickly out.

-

“Mmmm. Oh god, fuck, please Ry, I-” Dallas panted, and then groaned even more, wordlessly, as Ryan continued to all-out assault his neck. He’d have to wear a high collar for _weeks_. Nothing had ever been more totally fucking worth it.

Ryan’s hands were all over him - on his ass, up his shirt, squeezing at his biceps and his elbows. It was somehow the most erotic thing in the world when he pulled back, blazing hot, and painstakingly unbuttoned Dallas’ shirt using only careful, rigorously controlled movements. Not tearing off a single button. Then he pushed the cotton out of the way and put his broad, hot hands all over Dallas’ bare chest, and that was even _more_ erotic, and Dallas made a high noise and manfully tried his best to jump him.

Ryan caught his momentum and pulled him in and kissed him in hot, heavy presses - in wet, consuming waves - and it didn’t matter if he didn’t say it and it didn’t matter if they never did anything but this, because Dallas was his, his, _his_.

“Fuck,” Ryan cursed into his mouth, and Dallas might have said some of that out loud. “I am never letting you leave this room.”

Dallas attempted to pull simultaneously at the hem of Ryan’s shirt and the waist of his sweatpants, to limited effect. “We have to get on the bus in sixty-”

“Mmm, _no_ ,” Ryan grunted, apparently unconcerned as to whether he ever got naked or not, completely consumed with the task of coaxing Dallas to press up ever more - impossibly - even closer. “Never leaving.”

“'Kay,” Dallas agreed easily, and let himself be steered bodily over to the bed, and let Ryan press him down and climb up on top, and they kept tearing at each other’s clothes and failing to do anything even remotely close to removing them. They were still half-dressed and groaning into each other’s mouths, rolling all over the bed.

“Gonna let me make it good for you,” Ryan said when he finally, maddeningly, somehow managed to tear his mouth away. His lips were red and used. He had one hand cupped gently at the side of Dallas’ face. It wasn’t a question.

“Don’t wanna stop,” Dallas whined at him, completely breathless. Ryan’s hand tightened over his jaw. “Please, Ry, kiss me.”

Ryan kissed him instantly, almost wild with it, all over him in a flash and so slick and sweet and tender. The inside of his mouth was like wet velvet. Dallas made a _very_ embarrassing noise and arched up for more. His dick was leaking precum steadily, right into the front of his pants.

“Like this then,” Ryan said. He shoved Dallas’ pants down around his knees and did the same to his own, then rolled over so that all of his weight was pressing Dallas into the bed, their dicks lining up, and with one knee pinned against the fabric stretched between Dallas’ legs. Trapping him there. There was absolutely no reason for Dallas to enjoy it so much.

He tried to buck up once - just to feel how little leverage he could get like this, and for how it made Ryan bear down instantly harder against him, working to keep him pinned. He felt it rush up through his bloodstream then, just knowing how totally caught he was - how much Ryan wanted, how he was going to do everything to keep him there. 

It was written all over his own skin, how much Dallas liked the thought of being Ryan’s, but it was really only like this - with Ryan pressed up so tight and rocking against him, with Ryan’s teeth working bruises into the small ridge of his collarbone, with Ryan’s eyes a hollow black and focused, unerringly, on nothing in the world but him - that he could clearly (so clearly, how had he never noticed it before) see how much Ryan liked being _his_.

“Baby,” Dallas said, out of nowhere, and Ryan looked up at him with this expression on his face that was almost _pleading_ , it was desperate, and Dallas stroked a hand through his hair and brought their mouths together in a kiss that was as gentle as he could make it. “Feels so good baby, you make me feel so good. It’s perfect. Keep going.”

Ryan groaned heavily and rutted up against him, almost no space between their bodies now but both of their dicks so wet that it didn’t even matter, it just made it better, Ryan rubbing himself off all over him, working his hips in tight and then in languid rolls. It was the hottest goddamn thing. He got one hand on Ryan’s bare ass to pull him down harder and then to keep him there, burning up underneath him as Ryan snarled and dropped his weight and took his mouth again to devour it, ungently, kissing Dallas slick and hot and deep as Dallas spurted all over between them. 

“Keep going, fuck,” Dallas panted between the kisses that kept coming, and Ryan started another slow rock against him, just slowly rubbing his dick up and down from the crease of Dallas’ hip and over his stomach, smearing his come everywhere. Dallas grinned and reached down and wrapped a hand around him.

“I want yours, too,” he said, and felt his smile turn wicked at the stutter in Ryan’s hips. He started to move his hand, slow, a counterpoint to Ryan’s thrusts. Tightened his grip around the base, where he could feel the slightly harder bump of what had to be Ryan’s knot, lying dormant.

“Come on baby, want you to give it to me,” he said, totally out of his mind. “ _Need_ you to give it to me, need your mark all over my skin, Ry, please.” Ryan groaned along with him, mouth open and dragging against Dallas’ chest. “Need everybody to know. Need everybody to know how you’re _mine_.”

Ryan’s forehead pressed hard into his sternum, shoulders curling up to his ears as he moaned helplessly and shot off in Dallas’ hand, streaking come over his stomach and his hips and the soft mound of his dick. They stayed like that, Dallas stroking his clean hand through the hair at the back of Ryan’s head, gentling him as he shook with aftershocks, until he caught his breath back and sat up some, hazel eyes tracing over Dallas’ body from the marks at his throat to the streaks of come cooling over his stomach. Then he grinned, bright and sweaty and satisfied, and leaned back over Dallas so that he could kiss him some more.

“We do actually have to be on the bus you know,” Dallas said, when the stickiness of his skin started to edge from _very_ _hot_ to _very much not_. Ryan made a noise like he disagreed, but he finally tucked just one last kiss under Dallas’ jaw and then moved down the bed to strip him completely out of his pants.

“You’re not coming in with me,” Dallas had to say when it looked like Ryan was aiming to follow him in through the bathroom door. Ryan literally _pouted_ in response.

“No,” Dallas repeated firmly. “Any other time, yes, but right now we have less than thirty minutes to get packed and presentable, and you helping me in the shower only ends in distracting orgasms. And how that is _not_ a selling point, I don’t know, but right now I’m just gonna have to stick to my guns and I’ll probably remember when I’m not, y’know, looking at you and all your… buff nakedness. Synonyms. Okay, goodbye!”

He shut the bathroom door between them and clearly heard Ryan laughing through the other side of it. It took him five straight minutes of soaping up luxuriously before he remembered that he was supposed to be hurrying. Fuck, Ryan didn’t even have to be here for the orgasms to be distracting.

-

“Hey Chucky!”

“No.”

“Chucky, wait. Hey! Why are you running? I just want to talk.”

“Oh hell no,” Chucky said, ducking desperately behind Gio. “No more, please, I can’t do this anymore. I can’t listen to your insane leaps of logic, you madman.”

“Chucky, come on, I just wanted to say thank you!”

“Oh,” he stopped.“Well in that case.”

“Thank you, really, for putting up with so much of my nonsense. And I think I _finally_ get what you were trying to say earlier: you were trying to tell me that _Ryan_ is in love with _Pete_.”

Chucky glared.

“You know what? Fuck you Adkins. You can thank me by staying the hell away from me.”

“But Chucky, whatever will I do without all of your helpful relationship advice?”

“Ugh!”

-

-

“Okay. Will someone _please_ tell me who the hell Pete is?”

**Author's Note:**

> Bit of a gamble naming my OC Dallas in a fandom where Dallas already denotes both a city and a team, but I just couldn't resist. Thanks for reading! Like and comment if you please, and y'all have a good day now, ya hear?  
> ([twitter](https://twitter.com/7sevener))


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